Lillian slammed onto a solid surface, her knees buckling as she absorbed the impact of a landing that felt far too sudden for the distance they had just dropped.
Her boots skidded against a damp, unforgiving layer of cold flagstone, and she had to throw her hands out blindly to keep from face-planting into the dark.
She stood up shakily, brushing a thick layer of grit from her palms, her chest heaving as she tried to force her lungs to accept the stagnant air.
Professor Alder has absolutely no sense of mercy, she thought bitterly, pressing a hand against her erratic pulse.
If this was how high-tier technical tracking professors handled a simple morning diagnostic, she shuddered to think what they considered a final exam.
The speed of the drop had felt less like an academic portal and more like the violent, spatial shearing she had read about in history book—the way reapers supposedly cut the boundary line between the living world and the dead just to drag a soul across the threshold.
She swallowed.
“So this is how reapers travel between life and death?”
“That is your first thought?” A perfectly smooth, entirely unbothered voice echoed from the shadows to her left.
Lillian snapped her head around.
Roman was standing a few feet away, casually brushing a microscopic speck of dust from his right sleeve.
The neon-crimson glow of his eyes was the only reliable source of illumination in the immediate gloom, casting long, sharp shadows against the monolithic stone walls.
“Are you alright?” He asked.
“I’m alive,” Lillian managed to get out, her voice sounding small and hollow against the vast emptiness of the space.
“No thanks to Professor Alder.”
She finally looked up, taking in the structural reality of the Lower Vaults, and immediately felt the breath catch in her throat.
It was massive.
The ceiling was lost in a dense fog of dormant, dark magic, but the colossal pillars supporting it were visible, carved from black iron-veined granite that looked older than the academy itself.
The air did not just smell like dust, it smelled like old copper, stagnant water, and the unmistakable ozone click of unstable containment hexes.
Deep, narrow trenches cut through the floorboards, filled with a sluggish, glowing amber fluid that cast a sickly hum throughout the labyrinth.
It looked less like a vault and more like a subterranean fortress designed to lock away things the empire wanted to pretend never existed.
“Well,” Roman drawled, stepping toward her as he looked around.
“At least the registrar had the decency to keep us within the same atmospheric zone. Though I suppose if you had landed in a different quadrant, I would have been forced to spend my valuable time tracking you down by scent. A tedious prospect.”
“…I’m glad my survival isn’t an inconvenience to your schedule,” Lillian muttered quietly to herself.
She stepped forward, her boots splashing lightly in a shallow puddle of mineral runoff.
She did not get more than three steps before she froze.
Directly ahead of them, resting atop a perfectly preserved obsidian pedestal that rose like a jagged tooth from the center of the path, was a glowing, intricate artifact.
It was a heavy silver pocket watch laced with dark, throbbing veins of blood-magic that pulsed in perfect sync with the ambient amber fluid in the floor trenches.
Lillian blinked, her jaw slightly slack.
“Huh?”
Roman paused beside her, his eyebrows raising a fraction of an inch as his crimson gaze settled on the pedestal.
“Is that… the blood-bound relic we were asked to retrieve?” Lillian whispered.
“Already? It’s right there.”
“A remarkably pathetic baseline diagnostic if it is,” Roman scoffed, though his voice had dropped its lazy tone and replaced by a calculating focus.
“Alder must be growing senile. I expected at least a minor territorial curse or a demon before we reached the objective.”
“Maybe we just got lucky with the portal drop,” Lillian said, though every single internal alarm she possessed was currently giving a deafening ring.
She approached the pedestal carefully, her hand hovering a few inches above the silver casing.
“Let me check the runic alignment.”
The moment her fingers drew close to the silver watch though, the crimson veins inside the glass face flared into a harsh, defensive orange.
A sharp, high-pitched geometric barrier snapped into existence, deflecting her hand with a cold shock that made her jerk her arm back with a sharp gasp.
“Don’t touch it,” Roman said, his hand instantly clamping around her upper arm to pull her back a step.
His fingers were cold through her uniform sleeve, but the grip grounded her instantly.
“It didn’t accept the registry,” Lillian said, staring at the defensive orange runes pulsing around the watch.
She squinted, leaning in just enough to read the tiny, microscopic script etched into the base of the obsidian pedestal.
Property of Nia Sorell and Amber Sinclair.
“It’s not ours.”
Roman clicked his tongue, his grip lingering on her arm for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he released her.
“A clerical comedy. It seems the academy’s spatial portals are just as disorganized as the housing registrar’s bedding assignments.”
Lillian let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the arm he had just released.
“We don’t have a map, we don’t have instructions, and we’re currently standing in front of someone else’s objective while our own clock is ticking down.”
She looked around the oppressive, dark labyrinth, the amber trenches casting eerie shadows over her face.
“How are we supposed to find our relic in forty-five minutes if we don’t even know which direction we’re facing?”
Roman turned away from the pedestal, his hands casually returning to his pockets as he scanned the shifting fog above them.
“Is this your first time navigating a lawless ruin?”
Lillian stared at him, her eyebrows drawing together in disbelief.
“Yes? Why on earth would I randomly walk into a subterranean death trap on a normal day?”
“How tragically limiting,” Roman drawled, a small, insufferable smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he took the lead, his leather boots clicking sharply against the cold stone.
“A proper vampire upbringing usually involves at least three instances of being dropped into an ancient catacomb by age ten, simply to teach one how to handle the dark. Consider this a highly delayed part of your education.”
He did not wait for her response, stepping confidently past the obsidian pedestal and toward a yawning stone archway where the amber fluid in the trenches ran deeper and faster.
“Stay close, Shaw,” Roman said over his shoulder.
“And try not to step on anything that breathes. I’d hate to get my boots dirty before we even find the correct relic.”
Lillian bit her lip, shooting one last look at the defensive orange runes behind them before quickly hurrying to catch up with his long, effortless strides.
“You’re remarkably calm for someone walking blindly into a historical graveyard,” she muttered, her short strides forced into a light jog just to keep pace with him.
She kept her eyes glued to the stone floor, actively dodging the glowing amber fluid.
The silence around them was unsettling.
The Lower Vaults did not feel abandoned so much as dormant, like something ancient had simply fallen asleep beneath the academy and never truly stopped watching.
The walls shifted occasionally beneath layers of old magic, the runes carved into the stone flickering in slow, irregular patterns.
Somewhere beyond the corridor, something dripped steadily into the darkness.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Roman did not slow down.
“Real monsters?” He asked.
“Lillian, please. Why on earth would the academy waste their time capturing, containing, and feeding live specimens just to entertain a handful of mediocre sophomores?”
“Exactly,” Lillian breathed, letting out a small sigh of relief.
“It makes no financial or logical sense—”
“Exactly,” Roman interrupted smoothly, his tone dripping with profound arrogance.
“It’s far more efficient to simply leave the gate unsealed and allow the ancient, indigenous horrors that already nest beneath the foundation to hunt us naturally.”
Lillian almost tripped over an uneven flagstone.
“You— you are deeply comforting, do you know that?”
“I pride myself on my transparency,” he purred.
“I’m serious, Roman! If something actually attacks us—”
“Then you will stand behind me and try not to scream loud enough to damage my auditory nerves,” Roman replied, completely unbothered.
“Though, if it is a truly repulsive specimen, I might require you to act as a temporary distraction while I determine the most aesthetically acceptable way to dismantle it.”
Huh?!
“I’m not going to be bait for your aesthetic choices!” Lillian opened her mouth to continue the argument, but the words died instantly in her throat.
Her steps halted.
A sudden, violent shift in the ambient magical pressure made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
The ozone click of the containment hexes grew deafeningly loud and the sluggish amber fluid in the trenches beside them hissed, bubbles rising to the surface in rapid succession.
She watched as Roman stopped walking, his hand sliding out of his pocket.
His ears shifted slightly toward the darkness, and for the first time since entering the Vaults, he looked completely awake.
From the darkness of the archway behind them, a wet, heavy sound echoed.
Like claws dragging against stone.
She began to turn her head, but her shock were completely useless against the velocity of the shadow rushing out of the gloom.
In a matter of second, a blur of black limbs and jagged bone-like armour launched straight toward her.
Lillian barely had time to inhale before Roman’s arm snapped around her waist.
In one sharp movement, he pulled her violently backward against him, dragging her out of the creature’s path as its claws ripped through the empty space where she had been standing.
The beast crashed into the stone floor, sending fragments of rock scattering across the ground.
The impact shattered the flagstones into flying shards of grit as a sprayed mist of boiling mineral runoff hissing through the air where her face would have been.
Lillian gasped, her hands automatically clutching at the fabric of Roman’s lapels as she stared in wide-eyed horror at the twitching, multi-legged nightmare currently scraping its claws against the floorboards.
Directly above her, Roman let out a sigh.
His eyes drifted down to where her fingers were clamped tightly over his chest.
“Lillian,” Roman said.
“You are actively wrinkling the right lapel of my silk. The symmetry is completely ruined.”
Stunned, she stared up at him, her jaw locked in speechlessness.
For a fraction of a second, the overwhelming terror of the multi-limbed nightmare was completely eclipsed by the profound absurdity of the vampire holding her.
They had just been attacked inside an ancient underground vault filled with unstable magic but his immediate concern was apparently the state of his clothing.
But driven by a bizarre mixture of adrenaline and an instinctive desire to keep the peace with the lunatic currently holding her out of death’s reach, she slowly unclasped her hand from his lapel.
With hyper-concentrated precision, she began to pat the silk down, smoothing out the wrinkles she had just made, cleanly flattening the fabric back against his chest.
She did not notice… that Roman had gone entirely still.
The dangerous purr he had been preparing for the creature vanished before it could ever leave his throat, the threat dissolving into silence as his attention shifted completely toward her.
His chin lowered slightly, the silver threads of his collar brushing against his jaw as he watched her with softened eyes.
The cold intensity that had once sharpened his gaze melted away, replaced by a warmth he rarely allowed anyone to see.
A gentle smile curved at the corner of his lips, tender and almost disbelieving, as he looked upon her unwavering concentration, entirely captivated by the fact that she was actually humouring his ridiculous demands in the middle of a warzone.
The moment Lillian finished smoothing the edge, she let out a small breath and snapped her gaze up to meet his.
In a fraction of a millisecond, Roman’s smile vanished, his gaze violently shifted.
He whipped his head to the side, his eyes locking instantly onto the twitching, multi-limbed monster as if he had been intensely studying its weak points the entire time, his jaw tightening in a completely manufactured display of alertness.
“A-Are we good?” Lillian whispered, oblivious to the micro-panic she had just caused in the pureblood’s internal monologue.
“Perfect symmetry has been restored,” Roman said, his voice a bit tighter than usual as he smoothly released his grip on her waist, though he still kept his body positioned firmly between her and the beast.
He cleared his throat, his eyes flaring back to their lethal brilliance.
“Now, I believe it’s time to teach it some manners.”
As if it could hear, the monster lunged forward again, its skeletal limbs clicking in an unhinged rhythm as it scraped against the stone.
Lilian dropped her gaze back on the monster, her eyes tracking its body.
Roman stepped into the space ahead of Lillian, a dangerous energy vibrating through the air around him.
“Stay back. I’m going to make this exceptionally brief.”
“Wait, Roman, hold on.”
Roman tilted his head back slightly, his hand still raised.
“Unless you are planning to adopt it, I suggest you let me reduce it to kindling.” This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“No, wait— just look at its pathing,” she urged, stepping closer to Roman’s shoulder but keeping her eyes locked on the beast.
“It isn’t behaving like a predator.”
Roman did not lower his hand.
“It attempted to remove your head.”
“I know, but think about how it attacked.” She pointed toward the corridor behind the creature.
“It launched from the archway we just came from.”
Roman’s gaze flickered briefly toward the archway before returning to the beast.
“Continue…”
“It definitely isn’t trying to steal the relic.”
One of his brows lifted.
“How reassuring. I was beginning to worry the academy had started hiring thieves with terrible skin.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” Lillian shook her head quickly.
“Look at its feet.”
Roman finally followed her line of sight.
The creature’s rear limbs remained planted inside the narrow trench of glowing amber fluid.
Every pulse that travelled through the liquid echoed beneath its bone-like armour, and the veins beneath its shell answered in perfect rhythm.
Lillian’s eyes widened.
“The conduit…”
Roman’s expression sharpened.
“The fluid is feeding it.”
“Or anchoring it,” Lillian corrected, almost to herself.
She crouched slightly, studying the microscopic runes carved into the stone bordering the trench.
“Professor Alder said the Lower Vaults were laced with localized containment hexes.”
She looked back up.
“What if they’re not actually monsters but the one who guards this place? And they aren’t just wandering around? What if they’re part of the containment system? What if… they’re the locks?”
Roman’s raised hand lowered by a fraction.
“…An anatomical security seal.” A slow smile touched the corner of his mouth.
“How delightfully primitive.” He looked at her.
“Go on.”
Lillian nodded, thinking aloud now more than speaking.
“If my hunch was right, the orange barrier we saw earlier isn’t just protecting the relic from us.” She pointed towards the beast.
“It’s protecting the guardian from being separated from it. And because we dropped in right next to it, our active academy registries must have caused a minor spatial ripple that agitated the anchor. It thinks someone is trying to force a false registry. Look—”
The monster let out a rattling hiss, its body convulsing as the amber fluid in the trenches surged violently.
It lunged one final time not at them, but directly at the silver crests resting safely inside Roman’s pocket, drawn by the raw signature of active academy registries.
“A remarkably sharp observation, partner,” Roman nodded as a genuinely impressed look crossed his features.
“If what you said was true, then the guardians aren’t obstacles, they’re signposts.”
Roman’s eyes tracked the branching channels stretching deeper into the Vaults.
“Every guardian is bound to its relic. Which means it wasn’t protecting this room. It was protecting its path.”
The realization settled between them.
Roman swept a hand toward the glowing channels winding beneath the floor.
“Perhaps Alder never expected us to wander aimlessly through a maze. He expected us to understand the system.”
Lillian looked down the corridor again.
“So we don’t search for relics…”
“We follow the conduits,” Roman concluded.
“Find our guardian, and we find our relic.”
He slipped both academy crests from his pocket.
The silver signets shimmered softly in response to the surrounding magic.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then one of the branching amber channels flared brighter than the others.
Roman’s smile widened.
“How obliging.”
Lillian stared.
“The registry is resonating.”
“It appears,” Roman said as he tucked the crests back into his pocket, “our relic has been courteous enough to provide directions.” He inclined his head toward the illuminated passage.
“Let’s go. We haven’t the luxury of admiring the architecture.”
Lillian nodded, falling into step beside him.
Though she had barely taken two strides when the runes beneath her boots flashed a blinding sapphire.
Roman’s head whipped around instantly as he lunged without hesitation, his hand shooting toward hers.
“Lillian—!”
But before she could even reach out, the gravity beneath her vanished entirely.
The violent pull of a high-tier relocation hex seized her entire body, twisting gravity beneath her feet.
The last thing she saw was Roman standing just beyond the collapsing light, his usually composed expression fractured by unmistakable alarm.
“Seriously?” His voice echoed through the distortion.
“Alder, you insufferable old sadist…”
The light consumed her.